


Sherlock and Boom Town

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: When Paths Collide [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Curious Sherlock, M/M, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Skewed Timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finally lays eyes on the man that seems to accompany the strange happenings in Great Britain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock and Boom Town

**Author's Note:**

> We stretched the timeline for this bit by a day, but, well, it was fun.

Sherlock looked at the newspaper articles that were strewn around him. Every single death that was chronicled had some connection to the Blaidd Drwg Project. It was a project centred in Cardiff around a nuclear power station. There was the team of the European Safety Inspectors that had been blown up, the Cardiff Heritage Committee that had died by electrocution at a swimming pool, the architect who died in a mysterious car accident and then the decapitated Mr. Cleaver. Of paramount interest was Mr. Cleaver's website and the disturbing information posted there. Sherlock pulled out his phone and dialled Mycroft.

He should have been surprised that his brother didn't answer, but he wasn't. Ever since Sherlock had begun to work things out with the pieces of information divulged from the British Government Mycroft had been determined to ensure he stay further from it than before.

“John, pack a bag!”

“Why?”

“We're going to Cardiff.”

“What's in Cardiff?”

“Death, decapitation, intrigue!” Sherlock moved around the flat with excitement.

“This doesn't have anything to do with a blue box?” the doctor asked guardedly.

Sherlock gestured around the room. “Do you see Mycroft here making an arse of himself?” He rapped John on the forehead. “Do try to think, John.”

“You know more recently out of the two of you, you have been the arse.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Must run in the family. Come on, John things to do!”

“How are we getting there?” John asked as he pulled on his coat, zipping it up.

Sherlock grinned. “Mycroft will be providing transportation.”

“And does he know that?”

The detective raised an eyebrow. “He may notice in a while.”

It took no time at all to throw some clothes into a bag and for Sherlock to hail a cab.

“The Diogenes,” Sherlock ordered as he climbed in after the doctor.

At the club, John followed the detective around to the indoor car park. Sherlock picked one of Mycroft's black sedans and had broken into it in no time. It only took a few moments for him to hot wire it. He grinned at John. “There. Inexpensive transportation.”

The doctor tried to look disapproving, but failed miserably, breaking out into a fit of giggles.

“No driving like a lunatic,” John ordered as he climbed into the passenger side.

“Of course not.”

John couldn't help but roll his eyes as Sherlock pulled out of the underground carpark.

They made it out of the more crowded streets before it happened, a police car pulled in behind them, blue lights flashing. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but pulled over.

“What did you do?” John asked.

The detective shrugged. “You mean besides stealing my brothers £200000 car?”

“Good point.”

An officer walked up beside them. Sherlock buzzed the window down.

“Turn the engine off and step out of the car please, gentlemen.”

“Or what?” The detective asked, his eyes flickered to the rear view and spotted his brother and his boyfriend in the backseat of the cop car.

“Mycroft,” he growled. Sherlock crossed his arms and looked stiffly ahead, refusing to budge.

John climbed out of the car without argument, torn between irritation at the situation and amusement at his boyfriend's antics.

Mycroft and Greg also climbed out of the panda, casually strolling towards them.

“Out, brother dear,” Mycroft ordered.

“No. Piss off. John get back in.”

Mycroft swung the door open and pulled Sherlock out by his shirt collar.

“What?” He spat.

“You're not going to Cardiff by chance are you?”

The other officer was looking rather awkward, his boss and the man known to be the entirety of the British Government acting as if everything was perfectly normal.

“So what if we were?”

“Well, we're coming with you of course.”

Sherlock went completely still. “Why?”

“To keep you out of trouble, obviously.” Mycroft relaxed his grip slightly. “I've seen that website you found, of course. It seems preposterous, but...”

John walked around the car. “Why aren't your people investigating, then?”

Mycroft gave him a thin smile. “I told you once, they can't be trusted. I meant it.”

Mycroft moved to get in, dragging the DI into the back of the car with him.

“What, and I can?” Sherlock barked a laugh. “You've never trusted me in your entire life.”

“That's entirely untrue. There are very few people I can trust and only three I trust completely. Those three people are in this car.”

Sherlock, back in the driver's seat, looked over his shoulder.

“Let me guess. You. You. And you.”

Sherlock didn't wait for whatever response Mycroft was going to offer, he just pulled back out into traffic.

John rolled his eyes and tilted his head to the side. “No need to be an arse, Sherlock. We didn't get dragged to some dungeon this time.”

“Give him time.” Sherlock turned the wheel, pulling around someone who was driving impossibly slow.

“Would someone mind telling me what is going on?” Greg asked. “I just got kidnapped into this by my boyfriend.”

John glanced over at the older man. “Know the feeling. Except mine thought it would be funny to steal the British Government's car.”

Greg laughed. “We're the nutters, John. You do realise that? Not them.”

“I think you might be right about that, mate,” John agreed. “This one,” he pointed at Sherlock, “has been obsessed with that new nuclear power plant. Though, with you two here, I suppose he had reason.”

“There's something off about it and yet no one is doing anything to fix it.”

“Off like what?” Greg asked, no idea what he was talking about.

“So many deaths. But construction hasn't halted. At all.”

“And that new mayor.” Mycroft made a disgusted snort. “There's something off about her too. She has managed to avoid every one of our scheduled meetings.”

John tossed over his shoulder, “Why don't you have her kidnapped, then?”

“Believe me, I've tried, but she just seems to disappear from surveillance.” Mycroft sounded extremely cross about the whole thing.

“She's the mayor, what's she got to hide?”

“Exactly!”

“Maybe she's paying off your men?” Sherlock offered, pulling out again. “You said the only person you can trust is yourself.”

“I didn't make myself clear. She literally seems to disappear from all video surveillance. I've examined the footage myself. It's not been tampered with.”

Now, John turned completely around in his seat and gave Mycroft an incredulous look, then his face clouded up. “This is about that blue box. Isn't it? I thought you didn't want Sherlock within a hundred miles of that thing.”

“I don't. But you seem incapable of controlling him.”

“I'm not a dog!” Sherlock exclaimed.

“It's probably not a bright idea to antagonise him, babe,” Greg pointed out. “He is driving.”

“I've tried, believe me, I have tried everything to keep the sod at home, but if he's going to go out and get into trouble anyway I might as well be with him.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “That's my point exactly. Aside from locking him up again, I can't stop him going. I might as well be there.”

“It's got nothing to do with you being curious yourself,” Sherlock said dryly, choosing not to comment on the fact they were talking like he wasn't here.

A muscle twitched at the corner of Mycroft's eye. “If it were mere curiosity, I would have already been in Cardiff. I waited for you, brother-mine.”

“Oh, thank you so very much for that,” the detective drawled sarcastically.

Greg barked out, “Boys!” He complained into the sudden silence, “Will one of you, please, let me and John in on what's going on?”

The Holmes' were silent, it took the DI a moment, but he eventually nodded in realisation.

“Neither of you actually know what's going on, do you?

“Jesus,” John said quietly. He wiped a hand over his face. “I suddenly have a splitting headache.”

“You're not the only one.” Greg dropped his head back to the seat.

“Just because we don't know something there's no need to be overdramatic,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Something the two most intelligent people on the planet don't know, and we're heading straight towards it? Of course we're going to have a headache.”

A small smile played over Sherlock's lips at the sideways compliment. “Shall we assume that you and Gavin will investigate the mayor whilst John and I investigate the deaths?”

“No, we stick together,” Mycroft argued immediately.

“But-”

“You think I'm letting you out of my sight?” Mycroft asked, watching his brother in the mirror.

“God, you're as annoying as John!”

Mycroft smirked. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

John snorted. “I won't.” He glanced at Sherlock. “I'm not going to have to handcuff myself to you, am I?”

“No! Why do you seem to think that I will get in trouble?” Sherlock seemed genuinely confused and it made him look innocent.

John looked at him fondly. “Oh, Babe. If you didn't find trouble to be in, it would find you.”

“That much is certain,” Mycroft agreed. He took out his mobile and pulled up the Cleaver's website. “This should provide you with at least the background information on the situation. I would have dismissed it as typical conspiracy theory drivel were it not for the numerous deaths associated with the Blaidd Drwg project.”

He handed his phone to Greg.

“John,” Sherlock slipped his hand into his pocket and handed him his phone. “If you unlock it, you'll find the same website.”

The two men read what was there. John looked from one Holmes to the other. “You're really taking this seriously?”

“With 13 people dead, yes.” Mycroft accepted his phone back from Greg. “If Cleaver's theory is correct, Chernobyl will look like a minor accident compared to what will happen in Cardiff.”

“What's so important about Cardiff anyway?” John asked.

Mycroft spent a moment looking between the three men, his gaze lingering on his brother the longest. “This man in the blue box… he is hard to track down… never remains still long enough, much like you, little brother. But we caught him once, a while back, he told us why the box has been sighted there over the years. Cardiff is built on a rift. It's like a bridge in reality…” Mycroft was certain at least two of the heads in the car were about ready to explode.

“If you had caught him, how the hell is he free?”

“You can't keep him locked down very long… everything we did he knew how to counteract it… where weaknesses were. He managed to escape without killing a single one of my men.”

“That was rather considerate of him,” John deadpanned. “If he didn't kill anyone, why are you so worried about Sherlock investigating him?”

Mycroft grimaced. “Need I remind you of Downing Street? This... person always ends up in the most dangerous place he could be at any given time. Without fail. It's not safe to get too close to him.”

“He really does sound like your brother,” Greg noted.

“Gregory, you have no idea.”

“Don't we? We've lived around him long enough… danger is danger, right? If Sherlock charges into situations that can get people killed what could be worse?”

Mycroft inclined his head. “More people dying.”

“That's my point… look how many people can die unless Sherlock stops it? Death is death.”

“Not always,” Mycroft said cryptically, his voice barely above a whisper.

Only Greg had heard him. He looked at his boyfriend, concerned and no little bit disturbed. “Mycroft?”

The government official waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing, Gregory.” He lapsed into silence and the others joined him.

Sherlock pulled the car up onto the curb and kept driving until he was outside the water feature then climbed out.

The others followed and rather than look around themselves Greg and John watched the brothers.

Some security guard rushed over, “you can't leave that there!” He yelled.

Greg pulled his warrant card from his pocket and waved it in his face.

“I don't care who you are. You can't leave that there!”

This arrogant sod had gone straight to Mycroft's nerves, he stepped up to him and looked down, “have you any idea who I am?”

“I don't care who you are!”

Mycroft smiled dangerously and the guard stepped back. The British Government followed, closing the gap between them. He tapped the tip of his umbrella against the cement beneath their feet. “This is who I am.” Mycroft handed him a business card. “Don't question it. Run.”

The guard ran.

Mycroft turned to face his brother, grinning. “I do so love to see them scamper away.”

“And you say this man in the box is the most dangerous man on the planet?”

Mycroft tilted his head on one side, considering. “He's the most dangerous to innocents.”

“There's no such thing,” Sherlock scoffed.

“You're wrong, baby brother, if for no other reason than the children.”

The detective looked away, his gaze falling on John. The good doctor definitely believed in the goodness of the general public, even if he had seen more than enough to convince most people otherwise. Also, his army captain was positively fierce in the protection of children. “Perhaps you're right.”

Sherlock flicked his coat collar up and walked off towards the feature.

Mycroft gaped after him as the other two men followed.

He hurried to catch him up. “Sherlock, did you just say to me that I'm right? Are you feeling okay?” He reached out to feel his forehead.

Sherlock slapped his brother's hand away. “Don't push it, Myc.”

As they approached, a secondary feature of interest made itself known - a blue police box.

“Well, that rather clinches it,” John observed, “Whatever is going on drew Mycroft's mysterious friend here.”

Sherlock stepped up to the box and ran his hands over every inch of it. His face took on an odd, faraway look. “It feels... tired.”

Greg gawped. “You've lost your mind. It's a box. It's made out of wood.”

The detective stepped back from the box, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking embarrassed. Sherlock cleared his throat. “Obviously.”

“Got your lock pick-”

Sherlock's hand was already holding out his lock picking kit.

Mycroft took it from him and began attempting to open the door, he fiddled and twisted but…

“I've already tried, Myc, I haven't ever come across a door I can't get into with that set.”

“Wrong,” John corrected. “There was that other blue box, remember...”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It was the same blue box, John. Do keep up.”

Mycroft let go of the lock pick for a brief moment to reposition his hands. It flew out of the lock. “Well, I don't think we'll be getting in that way or any other, for that matter.”

John glanced at his watch as his stomach rumbled.

“It's getting late, why don't we find a hotel or something?”

“You mean you're hungry,” Sherlock pointed out, grabbing the doctor's hand.

“No need, John,”

The doctor rolled his eyes and then looked towards Mycroft.

“Remember that place we stayed when we were kids? With Grandpa and Nan?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the memory. “You mean, where we learnt to swim? The manor that competed in size with our parents'?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said with a nod, he turned on his heel and headed back to the car. “It just so happens they left it to us and it's about 5 miles from here. I also went to the liberty of having it fully stocked. See, baby brother, I waited for you.”

“The investigation...” Sherlock started.

“Can wait until morning,” John interrupted. “It's not like the power station is going online tonight. You'll have plenty of time to run about Cardiff before that happens.”

Greg shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, Sherlock. I agree with them.”

“Typical.” The detective returned to the car and sat behind the wheel. “But we're getting an early start in the morning.”

“More reason to get food and sleep, then, 'Lock,” John pointed out climbing in the passenger side.

Sherlock didn't even wait for the DI to close the door before he reversed and pulled out into the night traffic.

John's stomach rumbled loudly.

Sherlock glanced at him. “Shall we stop here to eat?” he asked, pointing at a nearby restaurant. “You know how grumpy you get when you're hungry.”

John glanced over his shoulder. “Opinions, guys?”

“Sure,” the DI agreed eagerly.

Mycroft sighed, but nodded. “If that's what he wants.”

Inside the restaurant, they found a table in a quiet corner. A boisterous group of four caught John's attention. One of the men in the group was almost as pretty as Sherlock, but in a much less ethereal way.

“John...” Sherlock leant into the doctor's space cutting off his view.

“A man can look, 'Lock,” Greg said laughing.

“Not mine,” the detective covered John's eyes with his hand. “Here. At us. Or not at all.”

John tried to lick his hand, but failed so instead tickled him until he let go.

Mycroft's gaze strayed in the direction of the small group. Luckily Sherlock was busy playing with John and didn't notice the widening of the government official's eyes. He pulled his attention back around to their own small group and pasted a bland look on his face.

Mycroft couldn't eat anything as the others did. He was too busy listening in. He ended up having to look back over at the group when it fell silent. The guy in the leather jacket was holding a newspaper, the mayor that had cancelled so many of their meetings on the front.

Sherlock gave the group a long look, then turned to stare at Mycroft. “What's so interesting, brother-mine?”

“Hmm, nothing. Nothing.” The government official returned his attention to his still mainly full plate.

“You three done?” He asked.

They nodded, Greg dropped his hand on Mycroft's knee. “You not hungry?” The older man shook his head.

He waited until the group had left before standing and picking up the paper they'd dropped.

“I think we've found the mayor.”

The detective crossed to his brother's side. “It's not like she would be hard to find. No doubt she spends her days at the town hall.” He folded his hands under his chin. “You're trying to distract me from something.”

“Huh?” He looked up.

“How very dignified big brother, now it's got something to do with that group.” Sherlock moved to follow them and Mycroft dropped his hand on his shoulder.

“Please don't, 'Lock.”

Sherlock turned and looked at him. “This person you've mentioned, he was one of them.” He stepped directly into Mycroft's space. “It was the older one, wasn't it? Everyone deferred to him. Who is he?”

“It doesn't matter. What does matter is that woman.”

“Hold on,” John joined them and pulled the bracelet from his pocket that Mycroft had given him just before Downing Street exploded. “She's got one of these?”

The British Government frowned. “It's difficult to say precisely. If she doesn't have one of those, she has something comparable.”

The DI shoved his hands in his pockets. “Then how are we supposed to get her to stay in one place long enough to question her?”

“Get it off her?”

“Not tonight we won't,” Mycroft decided, glancing at the night sky outside. “First thing in the morning we'll try and track her down.”

Sherlock didn't argue, nor did he try to follow after the man and his friends. Instead, he made plans for later, for when the others weren't so on guard.

***

“Woah, this place is huge,” Greg said, looking around the manor. “I thought your parents' place was big…” he whistled and grabbed Mycroft's hand. “We can stay in Wales.”

John wrapped his arm around his detective. “Stick close by me, or you'll find yourself investigating a missing persons case. I could get lost in this place.”

With a shrug, Sherlock wrapped his own arm around John's waist. “It's not that large.”

Mycroft cleared his throat, getting Sherlock's attention. “1987.”

“Don't, Myc, just don't.” He pulled John off in the direction of the stairs. Well tried to, John stopped him.

“What happened in 1987?”

“Hide and seek,” Mycroft answered. “Or hide and get lost for him.”

The detective stuck his tongue out at Mycroft. “I'm quite sure you didn't look very hard.”

“You were a good hider. You still are when you want to be, much to my misfortune,” Mycroft declared.

“Well, I won't let little 'Lock get lost.” John gave another look around the manor. “Not without me, anyway.”

Sherlock scowled, knowing the doctor meant every word. “I was 9!”

Mycroft laughed. “It's not my fault you wanted to play an hour before father needed to take me into his office.”

“You left me, with Nan, and she had no idea what the game was… I don't know how she didn't seeing as it's pretty self-explanatory. You could have yelled for me saying that you had to leave.”

John laughed, “Where were you?”

He mumbled something that wasn't quite audible.

“Try again, little brother.”

“Grandpa's old shoe box in the attic. For four hours.”

John started laughing. He laughed so hard that tears formed in his eyes. “Come on, you. Show me around this place.”

“Would you like to see my old room? I used it every time we stayed here.” Sherlock urged John along with pressure at his back.

“I had the shoe box moved, 'Lock,” Mycroft called after them.

Sherlock kept walking, almost roughly encouraging the doctor with him.

“To your room!”

Opening a door, the detective ushered John through. The room they entered was large for a bedroom. It was more cluttered than Sherlock kept his room at Baker Street, but less cluttered than at the main manor. There was an old chemistry set on a table and books of all sorts piled everywhere.

“When was the last time you were here?”

“About 20 years,” Sherlock replied, looking around at the dust covered boxes. “You'd have thought Mycroft would have got it hoovered or something.”

John chuckled and dropped down onto the bed, pulling Sherlock down onto it with him. He kissed the tip of his boyfriend's nose. “Thank you for not running off earlier. I know you wanted to.”

The detective buried his face at John's neck, suppressing the guilt that threatened to overtake him. He refused to change his plans because he needed to know more. The more he knew the more prepared he'd be. He snuggled into the doctor's chest, the both of them still fully clothed.

“Shall we get changed?”

“No,” the detective murmured.

John kissed the top of Sherlock's head. “You've gone all lazy on me, hmm? That's fine.” He toed off his shoes and wrapped his legs around the detective, rolling them onto their sides. “To be honest, I don't want to move either.”

They fell asleep like that, cuddled into each other and awoke the following morning in exactly the same position but to Mycroft banging on the door.

John shoved at Sherlock, trying to get himself free from the tangle of limbs.

The detective didn't budge or even open his eyes, momentarily distracted by just how comfortable he was. “Piss off!'

“Oi!” John growled. “Let me go.”

Sherlock grumbled, but stopped his legs from thrashing about so the doctor could untangle himself.

Mycroft pushed the door in. “Come on boys! I've just had a call from Anthea, I know where the mayor is. Chop chop!”

Greg's head popped in as Mycroft's footsteps were heard heading down the hall. “He's as bad as this one is.” He pointed at Sherlock.

The detective snorted his derision at being likened to Mycroft in any way. He bent over and grabbed John's shoes, handing them to him.

“At least with you, I get to sleep until a decent hour,” John grumbled. “Though I might not get to bed before dawn.”

“Decent hour? You sleep until midday!”

John laughed. “Like I said, I don't get to bed before dawn!” He repeated as he slipped his shoes on.

Sherlock grabbed his coat.

“I'm not going out this early without food!” John yelled after him.

“Boring!” came the response from down the hall.

The doctor shook his head fondly. When he got downstairs, Mycroft shoved a cup of coffee into one of John's hands and an egg sandwich into the other.

“You'll have to eat on the way,” Mycroft informed him.

John caught the DI by the arm, shaking his head.

“Yours is definitely worse.”

Greg looked at his own egg sandwich and had to concede the point, even as he took a bite, chewed and swallowed. “Yeah, mate, I think you may be right.” He took a sip of his coffee as he headed towards the front door which was standing open in the wake of the two brothers.

“What do they run on?” John asked. “They must somehow ingest coffee from a distance.”

Greg laughed. “Oh no, mine runs on gas, not sure about yours.”

The doctor shrugged. “Maybe he just runs on pure stubbornness.”

They climbed into the car with the impatient brothers. Sherlock put the car in gear before either of them could buckle up; an awkward feat with both hands full.

“We are not cars,” Mycroft pointed out.

“Nope. Just geniuses,” Sherlock finished.

Nobody commented on how the two Holmes' had heard their conversation.

Just a few minutes later found them at the town hall. The Mayor, Margaret Blaine, had been sighted there earlier in the morning.

Mycroft led the other three men straight to the door of her office where they were intersected by her very rattled personal assistant.

“She's not in,” he said.

Sherlock nodded, it took one look at the man to know he wasn't wrong. “I believe you,” he left the other three stood there, gaping momentarily as he took off. As he rounded a corner, he heard a crash of what sounded like plastic buckets or bins. He headed in that direction instead of his original one.

He came out on the second floor by a window, looking down, he saw the Mayor and the guy with the leather jacket. Margaret Blaine was running away from him and she… disappeared before reappearing, but running in the other direction.

Stunned, Sherlock was frozen. He watched as she vanished again and reappeared, again running towards them. It happened a third time, her reappearance happening right in front of them. She appeared to be exhausted and was gasping for breath, giving up.

Just as the detective regained himself and started looking for a way down, Mycroft dropped a hand to his shoulder

“Let it go, 'Lock.”

“Where are the others?” He asked, not turning around, despite not noticing his brother's approach he knew they were alone.

“Looking for you.”

“But you didn't need to look, did you?”

Mycroft smiled slightly, an eyebrow raised. “I knew you'd run towards the banging, not away from it.”

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up. His brother knew him so well. He glanced back out the window, but the five people had gone. The detective gave a growl of frustration.

“Leave it, 'Lock.”

Sherlock sighed. “But he was right there.”

“And now he's not. Come on.” He tugged on Sherlock's sleeve, in the direction of the stairs. But as they walked passed a corridor, the glimmer of a footstep caught Sherlock's eye. He took off again, leaving an annoyed but slightly amused Mycroft in his wake.

He stopped outside the room where they had disappeared. He strained to hear what was being said.

“... she do that? A great big explosion, she'd only end up killing herself,” a man said.

There was a female voice. “She's got a name, you know.”

The man he had heard before spoke again, “She's not even a she, she's a... thing.”

A second man spoke, “Oh, but she's clever...”

Still, a third man spoke, “Is that a tribophysical waveform macro-kinetic extrapolator?!”

“Couldn't have put it better myself,” came the voice of the second man.

“Extrapolator…” Sherlock whispered to himself. He knew he was clever, heck he was like a stuck record when it came to his intelligence, but out of that last sentence the only word he understood still managed to confuse him.

“Argh!” He suddenly yelled, being pulled back to his feet. He was thrown into the wall.

“You just had to take off, didn't you?!” John hissed in his ear.

“John, John wait, I can explain.”

The doctor pulled him away from the wall and down the hall. “You would have charged in there pell-mell in just a few more moments. Don't try to deny it.”

With a dip of his knees, he looked John level in the eye. “They were talking about tribo-something something something extrapolator thingy.” He grabbed the doctor by the arms. “There's no such thing as an extrapolator whatchamacallit, John.” He tried heading back down the corridor, but the older man grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, pulling back towards the main door.

“But John… I need to find what that thing is.”

“I don't give a shit, risking your life for the sake of curiosity is just like that living plastic crap.”

For his part, Sherlock gave up the struggle, just let the doctor pull him wherever he wanted.

“You found him,” Greg called as he jogged up, breathless. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees.

“Yeah, trouble here was just about to get into some.” The doctor still hadn't let his boyfriend go.

“It appears the Do...” Mycroft stopped himself. “Any immediate danger appears to be well in hand. I'll need to focus on more long term matters.”

“How exactly?” The DI puffed. “And what about the Mayor? We came to see her.”

“The threat is leaving here. We don't need to stay.”

“We can stay for one more night, though, yeah?” Greg asked. “It's nice not to be consumed by London for a change.”

“Like Devon that time,” John added, thoughtfully.

“I don't see why not,” Mycroft agreed. “You alright there, little brother?”

Sherlock's sudden lack of height wasn't comfortable, but at least he could see the side door, even if it was upside down. That group of four from the night before had become five as the two stronger looking men were leading her away… rather forcing her.

Sherlock struggled again. “Can you let me go?”

John hadn't noticed the group, but he wasn't stupid. “Your brother said the threat is leaving, not that it's gone. So think again.”

“John, you know they'll go back to that blue box. Please, please, please can we go back to it and see what they do? Maybe it'll open up and we can see what's inside it.”

“Not a hope in hell,” the doctor answered, pulling Sherlock towards the sedan.

“But-”

“No, little brother, the good doctor is right.”

Sherlock crossed his arms, refusing to get behind the wheel. John opened the back door and shoved him in. “Greg, it looks like you're driving.”

Sherlock sulked the whole way back to the manor and then some. He refused to get out, forcing John to drag him inside by the collar and deposit him at the kitchen table.

“You're going to try to make me eat.” Sherlock crossed his arms across his chest. “I don't see why I should, you wouldn't let me have any fun.”

“No, I'm such an arse trying to keep you alive,” John dumped a box of cereal in front of him and the milk. “Don't make me force you, Sherlock,” he said on his way out.

The detective glared at the milk and cereal, giving it a look that would have killed if the food had been animate. As he poured himself a bowl, he considered. Most people ate at least three times a day - he shuddered at the thought - that meant the people he had seen would most likely be forced to find food at some point. Closing his eyes, Sherlock pulled up a mental map of the area around where the blue box was currently standing. He shifted his eyes from building to building until he found a nearby restaurant. With a smile, he opened his eyes. He knew where he was likely to find them if he waited until the evening. The problem was how to get there. There was no way Mycroft would let him go out alone… heck, John wouldn't let him go out alone. That meant he would have to go out with someone.

The most likely candidate was John… he wouldn't be easy to give the slip though, not after the morning they'd had. But maybe he wouldn't have to… if they were in the right place, the whatever it was might come to them.

All this meant taking John out on a date, something they hadn't done in years (Angelo's didn't count). Sherlock smiled, satisfied with both himself and his plan. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and began eating. It wouldn't do to wind his doctor up before this evening.

When John came back in, heading straight towards the kettle, he was surprised when he turned around to find Sherlock's bowl, not only full but him eating out of it.

“Babe, are you feeling well?” John walked over and placed a hand to the detective's forehead.

Sherlock pulled John's hand down and kissed his palm. “I haven't eaten today and with the running around...” He pulled the doctor close. “Well, then you got all forceful.”

John laughed at that.

Sherlock gave an internal smile - suspicion averted.

The blond pulled himself free, “don't let me distract you.” He nodded down at the bowl and Sherlock grinned.

“Only if you make me a cup of tea,” he bargained.

John made tea for both of them and sat down next to the detective. For no particular reason, he started reading the cereal box. At least there were vitamins in the stuff, even if there was nothing else redeeming about it.

“Stop thinking, John. I like it.” Sherlock took another bite as he swung his legs around and into the doctor's lap. “We should go out on a date tonight since we're stuck here in Cardiff without a decent murder to enjoy.”

“Did you just ask me out?”

“Yep,” Sherlock had another mouthful. “And if you want me to eat in the future, get this stuff from wherever it is food comes from.”

“You mean… a shop?”

Sherlock frowned, then shrugged. “If that's where it comes from, then, yes.”

John shook his head, not really surprised at the detective's ignorance. He ran a hand over Sherlock's leg. “We could go see a movie, I suppose, but you can't deduce the ending out loud. You remember what happened last time. You got a bucket of popcorn dumped on your head.”

“Yes, by you. Perhaps we should avoid the cinema entirely and simply go to dinner instead.”

John raised his hand to Sherlock's head again, glancing from his eyes to the bowl of cereal. “Are you sure you're alright?” He tried tilting the detective's head back but Sherlock pushed him away.

“Get off. Yes. I feel fine. You like it when I eat and I like to make you happy.”

The doctor smiled at him. “That works out nicely, I like to make you happy, too.”

***

Later that evening, John looked at himself in the mirror - he looked like an old grandfather in his jumper. He should have brought something less suited to mere comfort and more attractive to the eye.

Sherlock walked up and wrapped his arms around the doctor from behind. “Don't be an idiot. I like the way you look.” He nuzzled at John's neck, then rested his head on the doctor's shoulder.

John shook his head, his mind unfairly taking him back to earlier in the day. “But earlier I was looking-”

“Looking. Exactly. I know you'd never do anything. I love you far more than any other brainless imbecile can.”

John turned around in his boyfriend's arms and looked into those beautiful blue-green eyes. “Have I said how much I love you lately?”

“Hmm, but you can say it again.”

John obliged, more than happy to.

“I'm sure Greg or my brother will have something that will fit you, if you wanted a shirt or something?” Sherlock offered.

Looking up into the detective's eyes, John smiled. “Anything of Mycroft's would be too long in the arms and too thin. Yes, Love, he's thin, don't say otherwise.” He stole another kiss. “But maybe something of Greg's...”

Sherlock actually skipped from the room and then into Mycroft's and began going through their case.

“Oi!” Greg yelled from behind.

“Oi yourself. I'm busy.”

The DI snatched a pair of pants out of Sherlock's hands. “Why are you digging through my stuff?”

“John needs a shirt.” Sherlock tossed aside two pairs of socks, then picked up a pair of pyjama bottoms.

Greg snatched them from his hands. “I'm sure he's got plenty of his own.”

Sherlock growled, tossing aside another pair of pants. “Nothing he feels comfortable in on a date.”

“A what?” The DI shook himself, then grinned. “I hung all of my shirts up.”

“Of course you did.” He moved to the wardrobe. “Why did you?”

“Because it's what people do, Sherlock.”

The detective rolled his eyes, grabbed all the hangers and ran off back to his room and John.

The doctor giggled when he saw Sherlock's armful of clothes. “I'm sure Greg will be thrilled about that.”

“I might have heard him call out arse and wanker as I left their room,” the detective said with a grin. “I think you should wear this blue one. It matches your eyes.”

“Ok, what's got you so soppy today?”

“Soppy? Me? Never!” He shoved the blue shirt into John's arms. “Come on John, I want to make a nice evening of it.”

Shoulders shaking with mirth, the doctor put on the shirt. It fit surprisingly well. “So, I presume you've already selected a restaurant for tonight.”

“Of course.” Sherlock licked his lips. The shirt looked much better on John than it ever had on the DI. “Lestrade's not getting that shirt back.”

“It's Greg,” the DI called as he walked passed their room.

“He's not pissed?”

“It might have something to do with the new wardrobe Mycroft plans to buy him.”

“Wonderful. Hand me downs.”

“Come along, John. Dinner is waiting.” Sherlock grabbed the doctor by the hand and dragged him from the room.

“I saw you eat cereal for lunch. You can't possibly be hungry.”

“No, but you are and I like to watch you eat. You know that.”

“You'll be eating too.”

He dragged him to the front door where Mycroft stopped them.

“Go on, little brother, John will catch you up.”

Sighing Sherlock actually did as he was told.

“Look after him for me. Please.”

John frowned and looked where Sherlock had disappeared. “Of course. You think he's up to something?”

“My brother is always up to something,” Mycroft said with a crooked smile.

“Fair point.” The doctor let out a great sigh. “I'll keep an eye on him.”

“Bring him back in one piece and I'll restock your wardrobe too.”

“I don't know whether to be happy about that or pissed off.”

Sherlock had already got behind the wheel so John joined him in the passenger seat.

The doctor shifted uncomfortably in his chair as it became clear they were drawing nearer to the location of the blue box. When they stopped a few blocks away, he gave a small sigh of almost relief - he knew Sherlock could still pull a runner.

But he didn't take off. He climbed out walked around, opened John's door and then held his hand out for the older man to take. John relaxed just a bit more and smiled to himself. They walked into the restaurant hand in hand.

As per his usual, Sherlock requested a table in the corner - the better to entertain the doctor with his deductions and the better to watch for the man in the leather jacket.

He hoped he was right about them all eating out they could have just got chips or something similar. Sherlock ordered their best champagne, grinning the whole time.

John sipped the champagne, looking at Sherlock fondly. “You look beautiful when you smile.”

The detective blushed despite himself. Perhaps, he thought, they should go on actual dates more often and without being under false pretexts.

Minutes later, the man in the leather jacket appeared with the Mayor in tow. Fortunately, John's back was to the couple, so Sherlock could watch them freely.

He looked around in search of the other three, but there was no sign of them. Was this leather jacket man on a date with a Mayor he'd kidnapped?

“What are we celebrating anyway?” The doctor asked, still holding his champagne glass.

Sherlock refocused on John. “We don't have to be celebrating anything to go on a date, do we?” His eyes drifted to the strange couple as he took a sip of champagne. The Mayor had distracted the man and had poured something, poison, perhaps, into his glass. Sherlock was on the brink of standing when the man turned back around and smoothly exchanged his glass for hers. Interesting.

“Alright, babe?” John interrupted.

Sherlock shook his head to clear it. “What? I mean, yeah, fine.”

“Fidget arse,” he said fondly.

The detective's gaze flickered back over to the couple. They were still dining despite a clear assassination attempt. And what the hell had just come out of her finger?

Their food was brought to the table, allowing Sherlock to lean around the waiter for another look at the couple. They had leant in close together and the man had... sprayed breath freshener in her mouth. Very curious. After that, their interchange seemed far more normal of a typical couple out for a meal, though their conversation seemed heated.

“Oi, Sherlock!” John was clicking his fingers in front of him.

“What?”

“You seem really distant, what is it?”

“Nothing, nothing it doesn't matter.”

“Really? Because you've been eating like any normal person for the last few minutes.”

He glanced down and saw half his meal had gone, he didn't even remember ordering let alone it arriving.

“Huh,” Sherlock said quite unintelligently.

“Yeah, huh.” John reached across the table and took the detective's hand. “I'm really starting to worry about you.”

“I'm fine, John. Really. I just... What was that?” He cocked his head to the side. “That sound...”

“What are you talking about?” John watched him for a moment. “Eat some more. Maybe that's the weirdest this evening will get.”

A moment later, even John could hear the strange rumble. That's when the shaking started.

Sherlock stood abruptly. The man was running from the restaurant with the Mayor close behind. The detective moved to follow, but John grabbed him by the arm when the ground gave another shake.

“John-” Sherlock protested.

“No. Not happening.”

“But-”

“My new wardrobe relies on you coming back to the manor. With me now.”

“But-” Sherlock tried again.

“Bloody earthquake and you want to argue? How could you running off be a good idea?”

Sherlock growled in frustration, but didn't argue further.

When the shaking subsided, John threw money down on the table. “Let's get back to the manor before you do run off and get yourself killed.”

As they walked out of the restaurant, their eyes were drawn to the sky, which was lit up a mysterious shade of blue.

“What the hell?” John asked as he looked around, seeking the source of the light.

There was a column of blue light rising into the night-time sky.

“Are you going to argue again?” John asked, squeezing his grip on Sherlock's hand.

“No,” he answered, spotting the blue box at the bottom of the weird lightening.

“Really?”

Sherlock shook his head. Very little in his life had held the power to unnerve him, but the things he had seen in the last 48 hours were threatening to do just that. He needed to get to a quiet place and process everything in his Mind Palace. “Really. I need to think.”

“Fine with me,” John pulled him towards where they'd parked whilst many other people ran around pointing at the sky.

“Damn it,” he grumbled, “Sherlock, you've gone and got your brother a parking ticket. I didn't realise you'd parked on double yellows.”

Sherlock ripped the ticket off the windscreen and tossed it aside. “His cars can't be ticketed. The idiot must not have pulled up the number plate when he wrote it.”

“Of course.” John slid into the passenger seat.

Sherlock looked back towards the spectacular light show one last time, then climbed into the car. He spent the time driving back to the manor lost in thought.

“Baby brother, what have you done?” Mycroft asked from the door.

The spectacular light show was still visible, but distant.

“It wasn't me, Myc, it was coming out of the blue box.”

“I see.” Mycroft stepped around him and watched the blue light for a few moments. He seemed almost entranced. Giving himself a shake, he turned and followed his brother and John back into the manor. “Well, then. That's that. I'll shut down the Blaidd Drwg Project in the morning.”

“I think it's about to explode,” Sherlock added as an afterthought.

“What do you mean?” John was instantly worried.

“It won't,” Mycroft was absolutely sure. “The man with the blue box will stop it.”

“The man with the blue box. The man in the leather jacket.” Sherlock gave Mycroft a penetrating stare. “Who is he, Myc? What's his name?”

“I have no idea, brother-mine. No one does.”

“But you clearly trust him.”

Mycroft hesitated before answering. “I trust him in many ways, where the safety of the world is concerned, but I don't trust him where your individual safety is concerned. I've already told you, where he goes, danger will be found. Losing you to collateral damage is not an option. In fact, losing you at all is not an option.”

Sherlock stared at his brother for a moment. “I've never known you to be so… so caring,” he finished.

Mycroft looked at him with a wistful expression. “Perhaps, in this case, it is you who sees but does not observe.”


End file.
